when i was nine a boy told me my father and my mother were gay
what a shock! not to find that the two of them were supposedly homosexual
but to find they were Gay, inherently bad.
my friend told me i should tell my parents
it looked like i should be upset
so i told them
and they laughed
but i think the boy was grounded
when i was thirteen on the school bus i thought about kissing my friend
imagined it would taste sweet, and she smelled like cheap flowery perfume
and had soft warm hands that fit better than boys
realised i’d never felt attraction before
naturally i panicked for six or so months
having never heard of a lesbian
broke down crying into my nuggets one evening
and eventually spat it out to my mother
‘i think i like girls.’
when i was fourteen i was in my first relationship where we were too self conscious to hold hands
one day, drunk on the silliness of it, we came out online
and it wasn’t until she went home i remembered I had a cousin’s communion later that day
(the joys of catholic Ireland)
i hid in the bouncy castle and watched family arrive and huddle to talk
mortified i’d ruined someone else’s special day
then one by one my uncles came to me
hugged me tightly, told me well done,
and that was that.
i mean grandad thinks it’s unnatural
but he has two metal hips, so
now i am nineteen
i was never naive
knew part of the world would relentlessly hate me
but i didn’t care about what that part of the world thought about something so harmless
joyful
so natural
like learning to fly
but i see what some post
their perverse lesbian fantasies
like we exist to fuel their libido
and never think of anything else
but when i fell, that aspect never once
entered my mind
loving women is wonderful
gentle to hold, warm to touch
empathetic listeners who care so much
beautifully different, not one the same
none interested in playing some game
we love to love
we share our passion and pain
though no coming out is ever the same
we unite in our similarities
fall again and again
hopeless romantics
and built in best friends
when i am seventy, i imagine sitting in a chair
my wife beside me, ruffling our grandchildren’s hair
a pretty house, maybe by the ocean
always full of music, the kitchen a commotion
i cannot picture her, all i know is her smile
easy, reassuring, reminding me while
that though we didn’t choose who to love, we still chose each other
and her hand’s in mine for life through stormiest weather
they’ll still call it sin
they’ll still find it perverse
they’ll still make it a tragedy, because we’ve got to have it worse
we’ll watch their caricatures onscreen
laugh at the inaccuracy, flick it off
dance in the kitchen and into the loft
and then continue loving, knowing we don’t exist to create history
we love because we love, no other reason or mystery
you were the ones who called us queer
when we’re not any different than anyone else here
©Jessica Anne Rose, 2023